ed.

Rivers took his place beside Peter as the guards at his side fell back.
Soldiers off duty, many blacks and other camp-followers, gathered in
silence as the little procession moved over the snow, noiseless except
for the tramp of many feet and the rumble of the cart in which was an
empty coffin.

"Can I do anything for you?" said Rivers, turning toward the flushed face
at his side.

"No--you can't." The man smelled horribly of whisky; the charitable aid
must have been ample.

"Is there any message you want me to carry?"

"Message--who would I send messages to?" In fact, Rivers did not know.
He was appalled at a man going half drunk to death. He moved on, for a
little while at the end of his resources.

"Even yet," he whispered, "there is time to repent and ask God to pardon
a wasted life." Peter made no reply and then they were in the open space
on one side of a hollow square. On three sides the regiment stood intent
as the group came near. "Even yet," murmured Rivers.

Of a sudden Peter's face became white. He said, "I want to tell you one
thing--I want you to tell him. I shot the Squire at Gettysburg--I wish I
had killed him--I thought I had. There!--I always did get even."

"Stand back, sir, please," said a captain. Rivers was dumb with the
horror of it and stepped aside. The last words he would have said choked
him in the attempt to speak.

Six soldiers took their places before the man who stood with his hands
tied behind his back, his face white, the muscles twitching, while a
bandage was tied over his eyes.

"He wants to speak to you, sir," said the captain.

Rivers stepped to his side. "I did not tell my name. Tell my mother I was
shot--not how--not why."

Rivers fell back. The captain let fall a handkerchief. Six rifles rang
out, and Peter Lamb had gone to his account.

The regiment marched away. The music of the band rang clear through the
frosty air. The captain said, "Where is the surgeon?" Tom McGregor
appeared, and as he had to certify to the death bent down over the
quivering body.

"My God! Mr. Rivers," he said in a low voice, looking up, "it is Peter
Lamb."

"Hush, Tom," whispered Rivers, "no one knows him except Josiah." They
walked away together while Rivers told of Josiah's recognition of Lamb.
"Keep silent about his name, Tom," and then went on to speak of the man's
revengeful story about the Colonel, to Tom's horror. "I am sorry you
told me," said the young surgeon.

"Yes,